Stories Beginning in E
by Mariel Nightstalker
Summary: My collection of short stories for the month of November, 2010 Daily updates. SLASH FEMSLASH HET Assorted and Rare Pairings
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This isn't for a contest. This is for my own amusement. Stories will be 100 words and up. Updated daily.

**Equivalent**

They were equals in every way. As fast as James was as a Seeker, so was Sirius nimble as a Chaser. As crafty as Sirius was, so was James in cunning. They complimented and completed each other, like two halves of the same person with only the smallest of differences. They'd been friends since they were barely 5 years old, twins with jet black hair.

At Hogwarts they made Remus their project, and Remus was just happy to have friends. He didn't play Quidditch and he preferred books to girls, but they liked his good advice and the way he kept them from doing anything too stupid. Besides, Remus thought differently than they did and often came up with the best pranks of all.

And then there was Peter, inferior in every way and yet not worth the bother of bullying. None of them had the energy to tell him to shove off, as he normally kept his mouth shut and therefore wasn't too much of a nuisance.

Even when they started dating girls, they still preferred each other to anyone else.

All it took was one bold Christmas prank beneath the Mistletoe at the Potter Mansion to bring a new facet of their relationship to light. Shortly after snogging the shit out of each other, they had a brief break from each other during which they both privately panicked. Sirius wasn't sure how to proceed with their new emotional understanding, so James, tired of their self-imposed separation, proceeded for him. Publicly, in the Great Hall during dinner, to be perfectly exact, James reached across the table and grabbed Sirius' shoulders.

Unsuspecting, he let himself be pulled forward. James planted a loud kiss smack on his mouth and then shouted at the top of his lungs that the first person to give them any grief would find their life made a living hell.

~000~

End Equivalent


	2. Chapter 2

**Enamored**

Hermione sighed with weary contentment and stretched her arms over her head, arching her back to separate the vertebrae of her spine.

Ginny, sitting on the other side of her desk in the chair meant for appointments, stared without shame. She'd fancied Hermione since school, and lately her big secret crush was getting out of hand. She made excuses to be around her. She even quit her job in Quidditch to work as a low-level gofer in Hermione's Research Department.

Hermione stopped stretching and caught her staring. She raised her eyebrows, "What?"

"Nothing!"

Hermione frowned, took a gulp of tea, and said, "Look, Ginny, you've been really off these past few months. What's going on? Ron and I are really worried."

Ginny cast about for some excuse. While she was thinking her traitor mouth opened and said, "I fancy the pants off you."

Hermione didn't react for a moment, just looking at her, but then her eyes went so wide Ginny thought they might fall out. "Oh Ginny…oh Ginny, I'm _married…_to your_ brother!"_

She nodded, "I know. That's why I wasn't going to say anything."

Hermione chewed her lips, casting her eyes around her office like she did when she was trying to strategize. Ginny fidgeted and chewed the ends of her hair, wondering if her outburst would tear their friendship apart.

"I don't know how Ron is going to feel about this, but I'm willing to make this work somehow."

Relief was warm and sudden and it overwhelmed her, ripping a huge, daft smile from her lips.

"Really?"

"Down girl; and yes, really. I dislike routine, and I'm willing to add something new to my life. I really wish you'd said something before, though," she fretted with her papers, sending Ginny a disapproving look, "I was very concerned about your behavior, you know."

"I'm sorry," Ginny tucked her behind her ears, not wanting to accidentally bite some of it off.

"It's fine," Hermione sighed, passing her a fresh packet, "Go make 10 copies of that, please? In color."

"Sure thing."

She threw Hermione a smile over her shoulder and Hermione winked.

~000~

End Enamored


	3. Chapter 3

**Earthly**

Neville was a gardener. There was no other word that could sum him up more completely. He lived and breathed his plants and the soil they grew in. To walk through his house, you'd think you'd taken a wrong step and ended up inside a jungle. His collection of reptiles, harmless toads and lizards, occupied the dark and light sections of his house respectively.

There was a knock on the front door, and the person standing outside shuffled their weight from foot to foot as they waited.

Strolling across his crowded living room to answer it, Neville stooped to offer his hand to one of his rust-colored friends. It flicked its forked tongue at his fingers, tasting their scent, and then crawled into his palm. He'd discovered that a warming charm on his palm made his scaled pets friendlier than they would've been otherwise.

The knocking started up again and he rolled his eyes, side-stepping a potted palm and patting the iguana occupying it on the head.

He opened the door, lips parted to inform his visitor that he wasn't interested in converting to their religion or buying what they were selling. But his mouth closed when he found someone unexpected.

Pansy Parkinson, socialite-turned-recluse, stood there dressed to the nines. She wore lipstick and everything. Neville ogled her. He didn't see a lot of women these days, too caught up in caring for his many plants and working on his projects. She'd grown into her face, adorably pug-like in girlhood. Now it was positively vampiric. He decided she needed to eat and sleep more. Plastering on his 'helpful face', he asked,

"Hello there! How can I help you, Miss Parkinson?"

She knelt, opened her handbag, and pulled out a drooping orchid, wrapped in protective spells and a sort of glass boxing charm he'd never seen before. She held it out for him to see, and said, "I've heard you're something of a wonder with plants. Can you fix my baby?"

He looked at it, tilted his head, and took it out of her hands, "Sure thing. It should take me about three hours to adjust the temperature of its case and change the soil. Would you like to wait inside or pass the time somewhere else?"

"I'll wait here, thank you. I'm not fond of public places."

He didn't question her but stepped aside so she could enter, closing the door behind her. He was about to suggest she take a seat, but realized that there were not seats. His newspapers and books had piled up to cover everything. He looked like a pack rat.

Mumbling excuses, he cleared off an armchair for her use. She took it, crossing her legs and pulling a book out of her purse. He flailed a little bit longer, trying to remember what one did with guests. Finally he offered, "Tea?"

"Yes please. No cream or sugar."

"Right."

He fetched it, feeling oddly nervous around her. His eyes developed a will of their own and insisted on staring at her many charms.

He beat a hasty retreat and began to analyze her orchid.

When he'd fixed it and delivered it back into her grateful hands, he thought that would be the last he saw of the mysterious Miss Parkinson. But she showed up a week later with a pot of narcissi that refused to bloom, and after that with some bulbs. Their exchanges grew longer, and he found himself liking her rather a lot.

And then one late afternoon he invited her to stay for dinner, and she said fine.

She never left.

~000~

End Earthly


	4. Chapter 4

**Eyelashes**

Harry loves his blonde eyelashes. Harry loves their length and texture and color. The way they flutter when he's sleepy or embarrassed, the way that they make his gray eyes all the more haunting.

He loved other things about Draco now, but those eyelashes were what set off a series of reactions in his heart valves in the first place.

A single flicker of them could send him reeling with ecstasy or despair. He supposed he ought to have been worried about that, but he couldn't bring himself to feel a speck of concern. Draco wasn't the sort to abuse him. Not now, not when they were no longer children or soldiers fighting on opposite sides of a nonsensical war.

He was happy with Draco. They'd never made any official vows of allegiance to one another, but it was somehow understood after their first few trysts that they weren't to run around with other people. Harry didn't feel restricted with Draco like he did with Ginny and Susan, both of whom demanded his soul sliced and chilled on a platter for their consumption. He was happy to be away from the pointless love games and cruelty with which we treat others in affairs of the heart, smashing their delicate hopes and feelings as though they can grow back like a lizard's limb.

When Draco quietly suggests moving in together, Harry just nods, dragging his thumb through lashes so thick they feel like little paint brushes attached to the blue-veined lids of his eyes.

~000~

End Eyelashes


	5. Chapter 5

**Easygoing**

Louis/Lorcan SLASH

Louis was the youngest child of Bill and Fleur Weasley, and their only son. Because of this, his mother had made attempts to smother him from day one. His sisters were allowed to go out with friends at the drop of a hat, but if Louis wanted to have a friend over for a play date, there was uproar and demands for a background check on Little Johnny.

He tried not to resent this, and became skilled at avoiding his mother to cope with her blanket love. Hogwarts only hastened that goal. There he made friends in droves and made sure that his sister Dominique could vouch for their suitability.

By the time he graduated, he barely spoke with his mother anymore or anyone else in his extended family for that matter. Because of this, he missed Lorcan and Lysander Lovegood growing up from precious blonde babies into heartbreakers. Not that the boys noticed it the way they were ogled by their classmates. Both had inherited their mother's light grasp on reality and societal norms, and spent most of their time together instead of with other students. And yet the study body, as a whole, liked them. There was something very easy-going about the twins.

Louis met Lorcan after Lorcan had graduated. He was in England for a change instead of jet setting around the world as a consultant, and stopped into a Wizarding pub out of nostalgia. He didn't miss being coddled and kept a child past when he was ready to grow up, but he did miss the ambiance of the pubs. There was a sort of camaraderie he felt there that he didn't feel anywhere else.

He ordered breakfast and looked around at the other people. He'd just begun to eat his eggs when someone bumped the back of his chair, knocking his fork against his teeth. The mouthful of eggs fell on the floor. He frowned and turned around to say something, but found wide apologetic eyes.

He offered Louis a croissant by way of apology, though where he'd gotten it was a mystery.

"Terribly sorry…"

Louis looked again and then asked, "Are you related to Luna Lovegood?"

"Yes."

No further explanation was given, so Louis accepted the croissant, cleared his throat awkwardly, and tried to go back to eating. But he couldn't stop thinking about those eyes. They were just so big and, well, odd. That didn't sound attractive now that he thought about it, but they certainly were. It was as though those eyes had already seen everything there was to see and accepted it. He peeked over his shoulder at him, and found the Lovegood relative sitting on the floor in the corner beside the fireplace, slowly peeling a hardboiled egg. He tossed the shells into the flames.

Louis picked up his plate and came over to sit beside him. He held out his hand,

"I'm Louis Weasley."

Lovegood started. "Ah, sorry, I've been daydreaming. What can I do for you?" Lovegood looked at his hand, then at him, and smiled. He didn't shake it, but he said, "I'm Lorcan Scamander. I have egg on my hand and I don't care to share the predicament, so you can put that hand away because I won't shake it."

"Oh. I thought you were…" and then he remembered. Aunt Luna married some guy from Greenland named Something Scamander. "I don't think we've met before. How did that happen?"

"You've been in Arabia," Lorcan stated matter-of-factly, taking a bite of his naked egg.

Lorcan smelled like patchouli, lemon grass, and a little bit of thyme. Louis wondered if he'd been in a garden earlier. Combined with those eyes, the soft tenor of his voice, and his long pale fingers, he was a vision. Louis was helplessly lost in admiration.

"Right," he fished around for something to say, something that wouldn't make him look like an idiot in front of this person. He didn't know what it was about this kid, but he wanted to stay with him, "So how old are you now?"

"Eighteen."

Okay, so not a kid, per se.

"What do you get up to these days? Are you at school still?"

"No, I graduated four years ago."

He frowned, "Thought you said you were eighteen?"

Lorcan gave him a funny look, licking some marmalade off his hand, "I am."

"Ravenclaw?"

"Yes."

"Oh," Well, that explained the mystery. His mother was barmy but she had a prodigious brain, and their father most likely did as well. He resisted the urge to ask nosy questions about his grades.

"I've forgotten my wallet," Lorcan announced.

"I can treat you", Louis offered without thinking.

"That's very nice of you. I lose stuff a lot. Dad says it's my worst fault. Mum disagrees. She says my worst fault is the way I chew gum. The next worst is my neutrality."

Louis processed this and had a bite of eggs. He tried very hard not to think about Lorcan chewing gum, or doing anything at all with his mouth. He didn't know if he'd be able to keep his composure if he opened that can of worms. When he had swallowed, he asked, "What do you mean by neutrality?"

"I don't have dislikes; or likes, for that matter. It changes from day to day. One day getting caught in the rain is fun, and the next it can completely ruin my mood. Pinning things down one way or the other seems so…limiting. I guess you could say I'm too easygoing."

Louis thought of his last girlfriend, who turned out to be terrifying similar to his mother, and said, "You know, I _like _easygoing people. I don't think there's anything wrong with that."

"I like lime trees and parasol pines."

Against his better judgment and on the urging of his swelling infatuation, Louis blurted, "Fancy a date?"

~000~

End Easygoing


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I will be out this weekend, so you get today's and tomorrow's all in a lump. Aren't you lucky?

**Egotistic **

Narcissa Malfoy was a woman of society. She was once considered the best hostess in all of Wizarding England, and carried her title and reputation with pride and poise. She was envied, admired, and copied by the other wives of similar wealth and standing.

There was one key difference between her and the other wives other than her charm, something that set her aside. She had never once had an affair. Adultery was quite common amongst the upper class, many of whom had had arranged marriages and little attraction to their spouse.

Narcissa suffered no such situation. Her marriage had been arranged, but Lucius was a very attractive man and he seduced her thoroughly on their wedding night and never lost his thrall over her. Even when the Dark Lord came back and he began to fade and go gray around the edges, even when he was in Azkaban, she remained a devoted and loving wife.

She did everything she could to keep her husband's reputation together, and pulled more strings than a world-class puppeteer to get him out of prison once the dust began to settle. But it was too late then. The conditions of Azkaban had never been good, and they'd become harsher during the war. His health had deteriorated from lack of exercise, nourishment, and sunlight.

He died within a week of his emancipation, his once-golden head pillowed against her breast.

Without him, she felt like a ship in a hurricane. There were so many winds around her and yet not one clear direction. She let her social standing fade. Draco managed their funds now, and he did well by her, but she barely saw him. He had a young wife and was expecting his first child. He didn't have time to stop in for tea with mummy.

Her friends, always fair-weather, deserted her in droves. She almost never went out anymore, except to the occasional seasonal party where she was expected to be there and therefore could not decline.

It was the Midsummer Ball now, and she was reluctantly in attendance. She'd ordered a new dress, and it clung to her still lovely figure like an amorous man. Dressed in shimmering periwinkle, her thick blonde hair curled and piled around her head and shoulders like a forgotten deity, she outshone women decades younger than her.

A man, a young one, asked her to dance, obviously having no idea who she was. It was funny, that. The younger generation didn't know her like their parents did. She wasn't rude enough to say no, and now she was in her current predicament. His offer had broken some kind of code of shyness and she was suddenly swarmed by young men of all layers of the upper crust, all eager to give her a whirl. She was tired, but actually enjoying herself a little bit.

Until her current charming young man came along, that is. The party had dragged on for hours, and most of the guests were quite drunk. Her partner in full erection against her leg was declaring his love in panting sentences from some lewd book directly into the pink shell of her ear. Most of Narcissa's leg was unwillingly against his crotch, and her partner moaned as his hands explored her naked back.

She shuddered and wondered how to escape. It had been a long time since this had happened. No one had dared to touch her when Lucius was alive. Finally the song ended and she sprang away and out the open doors into the gardens before anyone else could molest her.

The evening air is warm and fragrant as she wanders, tracing an aimless path between perfectly manicured beds of roses and peonies and lavender.

The soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel behind her make her shoulders tense, and she flicks her eyes to the shimmery garden ornament, divining a tall dark man.

"Good evening, Madam Malfoy."

She turned, as etiquette demanded, and nodded to him, "Good evening, Mr…?"

"Zabini, Blaise. I went to school with your son, though we never met."

"Ah," she nodded vaguely at him and then turned back to the roses, wondering what a man who looked the way he did was doing talking to an aging widow like herself. She wasn't 50 yet, but it was closer than she liked.

"Madam…?"

"Hm?"

"Would you do me the honor of a dance?"

She sighed, "I'm afraid not. I don't have any strength left to dance."

She could hear him approaching, and then she could smell his cologne, something smooth and dark, like his skin. He rested his hand gently on her elbow and turned her to face him. he was much better looking than she'd thought, now that he was closer in the gloom. He smiled down at her.

"Not even a little dance?"

Smiling despite herself, she answered by settling her arms into the position for a waltz. As they moved slowly around the garden, against the tempo of the music heard distantly from the house, she said,

"You know, I do remember you. Draco said you were an egotistic prat."

Blaise laughed, "I was, yes. And I recall that you used to be married. But that was then, and this is now."

Narcissa put her cheek against his lapel and let him lead. He led well, unlike her other dance partners. There was no indecent touching either, and he did nothing more scandalous than lay his head atop hers.

~000~

End Egotistic


	7. Chapter 7

**Enlightenment**

Hermione was not in the habit of making friends with ghosts. She believed them to be important relics of the past, and an interesting field of study, but she was not interested in socializing with the undead. After a while they began to repeat themselves, like broken records.

Cobalt sky hung in a perfect dome over her little plot of land. The smell of lavender wafted into the air with every flick of the breeze. Closing her eyes, she tilted her back so the sun could shine on, perfectly relaxed and at home.

She was self-employed and worked from home most days, but she remained on good terms with her old Head of House, now Headmistress of Hogwarts, and filled in on any subject but flying when she needed a spare professor.

In exchange for this, she was allowed to collaborate with Neville on the new memorial gardens that took up a portion of the school grounds. Without her knowledge Neville had set aside a small square of the new gardens for her personal space, and planted all of her favorites. He surprised her with it on her birthday, and she could've kissed him. She didn't like working in gardens, but she did enjoy planning them and sitting in them. There was a little bench hung beneath an arbor overgrown with white clematis where she liked to sit and grade the day's assignments.

It was there that she sat now, during the last month of the school year. It was Divination she'd been teaching for the past few weeks, since the resident seer had taken ill with some mysterious fever that Hermione was convinced was entirely invented in their own mind. Divination was not her favorite subject, but she did like a challenge.

She felt a faint chill in the air and opened her eyes, returning her attention to her surroundings. She started when she saw a woman, dressed in the garb of the Dark Ages, smelling her flowers. The sun shone straight through her silvery body, forming queer shadows on the short-cropped grass.

"Hello!"

It was only polite to greet a guest.

The ghost turned and smiled at her. Her face was framed by her cowled headdress. Oh, what a face it was. Hermione struggled to breathe for a moment before recovering. She'd never seen someone in person (sort of) that looked so…aristocratic. And noble! And kind, too; her eyes were warm even in death.

"Hello. Is this your little piece of paradise?"

Hermione nodded dumbly, nearly dropping her quill.

"I apologize for intruding. Do you mind if I stay a little while?"

She shook her head, "No! Not at all; I'm Hermione, Hermione Granger. I teach here sometimes. And you are?"

The ghost drifted closer, bringing her chill with her like a shroud, "Rowena Ravenclaw. I taught here once too."

"I know," was all Hermione could think to say.

A bizarre spasm distorted Rowena's beautiful face, and then she seemed to melt. The ghostly silver figure vanished, replaced by a half-corporeal color version of her. She sat beside Hermione on the bench.

"Then let us speak of teaching."

"How did you do that?" Hermione asked, too awed to think of her rudeness.

Rowena winked, "I know many things, but I keep most of them to myself. What you just saw is my little secret."

~000~

Hermione found excuses to visit Hogwarts after meeting Rowena. She brought her work with her to her garden, and set up a bubble of warmth or shelter if the weather wasn't fair. Rowena joined her most days, sometimes speaking and sometimes content to sit beside Hermione in silence with one of Hermione's modern books.

One day Hermione asked if Rowena was confined to the ground of Hogwarts, or if she could enter the Forbidden Forest. Rowena laughed and replied that nothing on earth confined her, that she chose to haunt the grounds of Hogwarts out of nostalgia and a fondness for the fresh faces of the students.

Hermione asked if she ate. Rowena answered that she did if it suited her.

Hermione invited her to dinner at her house, and discovered that Rowena was capable of assuming a completely corporeal form. Their age difference didn't bother her after a mere few hours in the ghost's company. Rowena's mind was immortal, and it called to the same potential in Hermione.

~000~

When Hermione died, her house was in near-perfect order. Her clothes were neatly folded and ordered, and smelled faintly of rose water. The carpets were vacuumed. The windows were closed, their drapes dust free and neat. In the bathroom, the fixtures gleamed bronze in the early morning sunlight. Her books were organized by topic, author, and then alphabetized.

In the kitchen, two glasses, upended, stood on the draining board. They were the only things out of order.

Hermione floated in and filled them with water. Rowena joined her shortly after, accepting the glass when Hermione held it out to her. Once she'd drained it, she took Hermione's hand, kissed it, and pulled her through the house to the back door. They stepped out onto Hermione's new garden and sat beside one another on the warm patio tiles.

When Hermione put her arm around Rowena, it was solid.

~000~

End Enlightenment


	8. Chapter 8

**Escape **

Harry liked to run. This had its roots in evasive procedures involving Dudley and his gang during his pre-Hogwarts years, and was maintained as a means of escape from dark creatures and later as exercise or a means of expelling stress.

Harry ran 6 miles every morning, starting at 4 a.m.

He was escaping from something different now. Gone were the Death Eaters and Dark Lord. Gone were the children, his peers, with their prejudices and gossip. Now, Harry ran from his peaceful upper-middle-class routine. He ran from the house that needed repairs, the children, and the respectable job. He ran from his suit and tie. He ran from his uncomfortable shoes.

He ran, most of all, from his wife.

It was a struggle every morning to turn around at the halfway point and jog back to that life of menial tasks and petty annoyances. He was not a creature of peace, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't change his nature.

When he began to hear whisperings from beyond the land of the living, he didn't go to the doctor. He hated institutions, and hospitals made his skin crawl and memories come to light that he preferred not to think about. He didn't go to the shrink when the whisperings became a coherent voice. It wasn't addressing him, so what did he care?

The voice got louder, and he recognized the voice. It was Tom. Not Voldemort. Tom Riddle, the boy who preceded the Dark Lord. Harry wasn't sure why he was hearing his voice now, or why Tom would make monologues about what someone named Quentin said to Clara at lunch.

He only heard the voice when he was running away. He started to like hearing it. The things Tom rambled about were sometimes banal, sometimes philosophical. He could gossip about Prue and Zillah looking entirely too cozy in the garden, or wax poetic about the nature of crime.

Harry found himself feeling jealous when a note of shy excitement entered Tom's voice whenever someone named Javiar was brought up. He told himself he was being ridiculous. Tom wasn't in love with this person, and if he was, it was none of Harry's concern. Harry was married, after all, even if it wasn't much of a marriage anymore.

Javiar's acts and clever things he'd said started to appear more and more in the monologues. Harry felt a hot ball of rage begin to form in his stomach. He'd come to think of Tom's monologues, often ended with the date like a diary, as something just for the two of them. Javiar was intruding.

Harry decided to act.

Ginny told everyone at the funeral that Harry hadn't been himself in months, that she asked him repeatedly to get therapy but he refused to hear of it. She said that she should've seen this coming.

It would seem that Harry had taken the ultimate escape.

~000~

In Hell, Harry stormed straight up to Javiar and smashed his handsome French nose. Tom was so shocked he couldn't speak, but secretly flattered by the possessive glint in Harry's eye.

~000~

End Escape


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Alice is Neville's mother, for those who don't know. She was supposed to be pretty close with Lily.

**Ennui **

A blue bowl filled with nearly over-ripe apricots dominated the little chest of drawers against the far side of the room.

Lily was spending her first summer away from home, not that she was sorry to be missing time with her family. Things had been getting worse with Petunia, and her mother had a job now so neither of their parents was around much. She felt some regret for the decline of the relationships in her family, but she'd known that this day would come. She wasn't like them, and she never could be.

Alice was the only girl at school that she honestly liked. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with her classmates, per se. it was just that most of them were Purebloods and treated her like some kind of exotic minority. Alice wasn't like that, though. Alice reminded her of the hippies of last decade sometimes. She was just so…calm all the time. Nothing seemed to faze her; not Lily's heritage; not her tendency to act like a boy, and not even her bright red hair.

But now they were alone in her house at 2 in the afternoon with nothing to do. It was too hot to swim, and they were too lethargic from the heat to do much more than lay sprawled out on Alice's bedroom floor. The wood slats of the floor were cooler than any other place in the house.

Lily slowly ran an ice cube over her forehead, back and forth. It'd melted to little more than a thin sliver of ice.

Alice sat up suddenly, exclaiming, "I know what we can do!"

Lily lazily turned her head towards her, raising her eyebrows whilst popping the ice cube into her mouth.

"We can make cocktails!"

Lily raised herself with difficulty into a seated position, "Come again?"

But Alice was already standing, stretching her arms above her head. Her hair, huge and frizzy in the humidity, hung around her head like a cloud. Tendrils of blonde hair, prettier than Petunia's would ever be, clung to her temples with sweat; Lily's eyes traced their little curlicues.

The bracelets around Alice's wrist and ankle chinked as she scuttled out the door and down the corridor to the kitchen. Lily felt an incredible sense of antipathy for the very concept of walking around in this heat, but her curiosity won out. She stumbled to her feet, adjusted her bra, and followed Alice. The hallway was suffocating, and she was having difficulty drawing breath by the time she joined Alice by the cooling cabinet.

Alice didn't acknowledge her, tapping her lip with her finger as she examined the contents of the cabinet. At last she grabbed the bag of lemons and an unmarked glass bottle filled with clear liquid from the back.

She got out the sugar bowl and a pair of glasses. She spooned some sugar into each, and then shoved a cut lemon into Lily's hands to squeeze in as well. She swiped at the sugar on her hand with her tongue, drawing Lily's eye, before unscrewing the bottle.

Something that smelled very much like her parents after one of their many cocktail parities made her pay more attention to what Alice was doing and not the way the blinding sun made her blue slip glow white.

"Is that…?"

Alice blinked at her, "I said we were making cocktails. If we're drunk, we won't mind the heat so much. And it's something to do. I hate ennui."

That was another thing Lily loved about Alice. Her vocabulary made Ravenclaws look uninformed.

And so Lily had her first cocktail. And her second. And a few more. The bottle was empty after a few hours, and they'd run out of lemons a long while ago. Lily had never peed so much in her life, but she was having a lot of fun. It started to cool down just a little bit, so they went down the petrol station and bought some bags of ice.

Filling the bathtub with ice and cold water, they settled into it together, not minding their nakedness in the interest of staying cool. Lily couldn't help but notice that Alice had very small nipples.

Alice hooked a leg over the edge of the tub and slouched into the ice, letting out a sigh.

"We should've done this hours ago," her voice was thicker now, and her vowels sounded funny. Lily giggled for no apparent reason and grabbed her foot, tickling her toes. Alice laughed and tried to pull it away, kicking her in the shoulder.

Lily caught her foot again and kissed it. She didn't know why she did it. She didn't think about it. But then Alice was on her side of the tub, and she remembered that she was naked. Alice was slippery with water now, not sweat, and Lily remembered that Alice's parents wouldn't be home until 9.

~000~

End Ennui


	10. Chapter 10

**Effeminate **

Draco was not the most masculine man in the world. He knew that. But having old perverts hit on him every time he went out for a drink was getting extremely annoying.

He sat moodily on his persimmon-colored sofa, drinking whisky from the bottle. He'd been trained since infancy never to eat or drink from a container, but his parents were long gone and there was nobody to slap him on the wrist now.

Despite the danger of getting the wrong kind of attention, he missed going out to drink. He hadn't had a real relationship since he was twenty, and without his evening prowls he saw no action whatsoever.

He sighed and drank some more.

His fireplace flared, causing him to drop the bottle and swallow the wrong way. It smashed on the floor, and he knew it would stain. No one visited him anymore! Hell, almost no one knew where he lived.

And then he saw who his visitor was, and he started choking all over again. It was none other than Millicent Bulstrode, the bull dyke of Slytherin house. Granted, no one ever saw her with a woman, but no one saw her with a man either and with a body like hers most assumed lesbian before she even turned around and showed her face.

"The fuck are you doing here, Bulstrode?"

She didn't answer. With a sweep of her wand the smashed bottle disappeared. She then sat beside him, her long arm resting along the back of the sofa. He stared at her. She looked at the fireplace, still not speaking.

Finally, she said, "Draco."

"Yes?"

"I'm moving in with you."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she talked over him.

"And you're not going to argue with me about this because you're a sissy. You've always been a sissy girl, and I mean to use that to my advantage," she glanced over at him, her expression booking no argument, "Now, go make me a sandwich."

Draco went.

Two weeks later Millicent announced that they were 'together'. Draco couldn't argue with her, and he honestly didn't mind. He could drink in public again; Millicent's forbidding height and expression kept even the most persistent pervert at a distance.

Truthfully, she kind of turned him on.

~000~

End Effeminate

MILLICENT! Oh, if only she were real. She's my dream girl.


	11. Chapter 11

**Embarrassment **

"Seamus, please understand; we can't be together. It just won't work."

"Why not, I should like to know!" Seamus shouted with a sudden burst of anger that startled us both. Apologizing softly and raking his hands through his hair until it stood up in tufts as though electrocuted, he began to speak once more.

"Shit, Dean…you know me. You know that I'm no good but to fetch and carry. But I love you and want to be with you any way I can. I can't let you marry her. I need you to, if not marry me, then at least live with me."

Dean groaned and leaned forward to bang his forehead against the bathroom mirror. He picked up his discarded toothbrush and started to brush his teeth again.

Seamus came over to lean in the doorway, watching him with that hang dog look on his face. Dean sighed.

They'd been room mates since graduation, after the war ended and they'd gone back to Hogwarts to take their exams. Dean knew Seamus fancied him, and he fancied Seamus as well, but he didn't want to say anything just in case he was wrong. Years started to go by without either of them admitting anything, and Dean met a girl at work that liked his drawings and understood him. she was pretty enough and nice enough that when they started going on dates he didn't mind and told himself that Seamus was never going to confess so it didn't even matter anymore.

And then, two weeks before the wedding, Seamus decided to speak up. Dean knew he was drunk, so he wasn't sure how seriously he should take him.

Seamus slunk into the bathroom to stand beside him. Dean made eye contact in the mirror, careful to keep his face neutral. Seamus slowly sank his chin onto Dean's shoulder, eyes closed. Dean smiled then. He'd always liked the way they looked together.

Rinsing his mouth, with Seamus pressed against his back now, murmuring unintelligibly into his shirt, Dean asked, "Why didn't you say something before? Why now?"

"I was too embarrassed," Seamus muttered, reaching around to fist the front of Dean's sleep shirt. Dean sighed and hesitated a moment, and then touched his hands. Seamus' warm fingers quivered beneath his.

"I love you Seamus, but I won't call off this marriage just because you're drunk and an honest one."

"Why not?" There was a definite whine in his voice, and he squeezed tighter. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Because I can't be with somebody who's ashamed of loving me."

"'m not ashamed of you. I'm ashamed of me. You're too good for me. That's why I was too embarrassed to say anything to you."

Dean had moved to his bed and was getting into it when he realized what Seamus had just said. Rolling over with his back to him, he softly said, "Turn off the light, and come here."

The light clicked off, and then Seamus came stumbling over. Dean scooted over, making room for him. Seamus curled up beside him, one arm flung over his stomach and the other reaching up to tickle his ear like he did when they were children. Dean squealed and squirmed away.

When they'd settled down, Dean took Seamus' hand and laced their fingers together.

Out loud he wondered, "What are we going to tell Dina?"

Seamus snuffled, already asleep. He smiled at him and kissed his cheek. Seamus was odd sometimes, but he was happy that his code of silence had finally broken. He wasn't looking forward to breaking the news to his fiancée, though. There is no kind way to say that you're eloping with your best friend less than a month from the big day.

~000~

End Embarrassment


	12. Chapter 12

**Energy **

James Sirius was something else. Since he was a toddler he was like the Energizer Bunny. He never stopped talking or moving; it was both irritating and charming.

As his godfather, Ron was expected to have a hand in raising James. What this translated to was being the designated babysitter anytime Hermione and Ginny wanted to go out on errands together, or when Harry and Ginny wanted a date on the weekends, or when James was getting a little much for his family to handle.

He only minded until James figured out how to play chess. And then they became best friends, or as much as one can be best friends with a 6-year-old that lisps and east all your chocolate when you aren't looking.

They sat beside each other at every family gathering or casual get-together.

When James was in trouble Ron was the one who interceded for milder punishments. Ron was the one who got to hear about his first crush, first date, and first kiss. James was the one who heard the first murmurs of collapse in Ron's marriage. And when Ron and Hermione separated, James requested that Ron sleep on the cot in his room instead of in the hall.

Ron had James help him decorate when he found a flat, knowing that James' taste was vastly superior to his.

James spent the night there when he had fights with his parents, and they would stay up late in one of their locked chess battles, barely speaking but each basking in the warmth of the other's company. Against his better judgment, Ron served James his first taste of alcohol.

Throughout all of this, James' manic energy remained at the same level. He could never sit still, always in motion. He talked less now, but the fidgeting remained. Ron heard rumors of talent scouts lurking on the grounds of Hogwarts, watching James' hyperactive Quidditch stunts in awe.

Ron watched him grow up and watched himself grow old, older than he ever thought he'd be. He didn't know where his crow's feet had come from or why he never had as much verve as he used to, but he thanked Merlin that his hair showed no signs of thinning or graying.

James told Ron first how well he'd done on his NEWTS and smiled like the sun when Ron told him how proud he was.

James didn't tell him what he fought with his parents about that got him kicked out, and Ron didn't ask. It was up to James what he did and did not tell Ron, and he respected that.

That late night celebrating James' promotion to the Bowling Bangers Quidditch team, when James clambered into Ron's lap and made his intentions to stay there clear, illuminated quite a few things for Ron.

~000~

End Energy


	13. Chapter 13

**Engagement **

Harry couldn't have been more surprised the day it happened. His relationship with Ginny was far from steady. They were on again off again all through school and then separated for five years after the insanity of the war, choosing to date other people and remain friends instead. Looking back, Harry knew that a fear of losing each other to petty dislike born out of lover's spats had fueled a lot of their decisions concerning their relationship.

But then Harry was made best man at Ron and Hermione's wedding, and all those old feelings came rushing back. Ginny must have experienced something similar, because she singled him out after the ceremony to dance and didn't leave his side for the rest of the day.

Still, he was careful. He didn't want to take their on again relationship too seriously. Ginny was very into her career at the time, and they barely saw each other twice a month. He started doing better at work now that he had a stable relationship and made so much progress that he was given a hard-earned promotion that year.

They separated for a month when Ginny confessed an attraction to a female team mate that she wanted to explore. He let her go, but it hurt more than it did when they were younger. He was getting used to having her around. He missed her ready smile, her energy, the passion with which she approached every aspect of her life. He began to realize that he didn't want to be with anyone else.

Ginny came back to him just after a month, and said it hadn't worked out. He didn't ask her any questions, and she didn't give any details. After all this time they were learning that some things weren't meant to be discussed. She sat next to him on their bed and laid her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and wondered how long he'd get to keep her this time.

It was seven months after that that she proposed.

He was sitting at his desk at work, trying to massage away a persistent tension headache. She didn't even knock; she strode straight into his office, flushed and out of breath.

"Will you marry me?" she got out between huffs, reaching down her blouse and pulling out a small silk sack. He took it when she shoved it into his hands, stunned. Opening it, he found a thick band of gold with her name on it.

"I already got one for me with yours on it," she explained, perching on the edge of his desk, "And they're non-refundable, so you kind of have to say yes." 

He laughed then and put his hand on her thigh, giving it a squeeze.

"Of course I'll marry you!"

~000~

End Engagement

I just realized that I literally never written a happy Harry/Ginny, so here it is! Please don't flame Ginny. She is a flawed person like the rest of us. Just because she's an easy foil doesn't mean you need to bash her _all_ the time. Thanks!


	14. Chapter 14

**Effervescence**

Cho sat in the Three Broomsticks, scowling down at her butterbeer. It was hard for her to get back into the dating game after what happened with Cedric and then Harry Potter of all people, but she was making an effort. And then her date stood her up.

So here she sat, looking for sympathy at the bottom of a fizzy drink. She sighed and leaned forward to put her chin on her forearms. She wished she'd brought a book. There was nothing here she wanted to see; she didn't have any spending money and wasn't in the mood to browse. She was just miserable.

Someone sat on the stool next to hers but she didn't look up. 

And then a soft voice that she recognized as Loony Lovegood's began to explain why soda bubbles. In spite of herself, Cho found herself listening. Lovegood really had a way with words. She wondered if she could make the process of paint drying sound as interesting as she did the bubbles rising out of her butterbeer.

Once she'd finished explaining the finer points of carbonation, she actually stole a sip of Cho's drink. Cho mumbled an outraged comment, but otherwise didn't react. She was already having a bad day. Who cared if Loony Lovegood was hanging around her? 

Lovegood asked her what the matter was. Cho wouldn't have answered, but there was a note of actual genuine interest and concern behind her misty voice. Cho lifted her face out of her sleeve and it all came pouring out. How pressured she felt to succeed in her exams, how her parents were always fighting, and how she still couldn't get over Cedric.

Lovegood listened to all of this, making sympathetic noises at the correct times. Cho found her head tucked into the curve of Lovegood's skinny neck, and didn't know how she'd gotten there. Lovegood smelled delicious anyway. She smelled like pastry and fresh fruit.

"…thanks for listening to me," she sniffled, getting her tears under control.

"It's no trouble at all," Lovegood assured her, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. Cho was surprised at how small and soft her hands were. They were like baby hands, almost. She smiled shakily.

Luna stood and dusted herself off. She wore long pale trousers, gathered at the ankle.

Without preamble, she stated, "You have intense pulchritude; I thought that was why I fancied you, but now I see it's because of who you are as well. Take care of yourself, Cho, and remember that your name suits you."

She turned to go. Cho frowned, trying to remember what 'pulchritude' meant. Then she smiled and followed Luna outside, catching her hand again. This time she didn't let go.

~000~

End Effervescence

For those wondering, pulchritude is physical beauty. And Cho means beautiful as well. Ravenclaw compliments, you know.


	15. Chapter 15

**Eulogy **

Fred wasn't sure he liked being dead. Sure, there were all the people he'd known that had died here to hang around with, but he wasn't in the mood to hang out most days. Life was very lonely without a twin, without George. The more he thought about it, since there wasn't much else to do here _but _think, the more Fred came to realize that George had been the only person that really understood him. It explained why things never seemed to work out with girlfriends or why their social circle was always in flux with new people. Lee was really the only person that they were friends with consistently.

He glumly drifted from tree to tree, observing the other happy departed souls. This was paradise he assumed, but some days it felt like hell.

Looking up at the green sky, he wondered why it wasn't blue. Or black, like space. So concerned with this issue, he didn't notice the other person coming towards him until they collided. He mumbled an apology without looking and made to keep walking.

A familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Fred? Fred Weasley?"

He pivoted and grinned at Diggory, the one-time Hufflepuff Seeker.

"Diggory? Fancy seeing you here!"

Cedric snorted, "Oh please. I was dead before you. How long have you been here? I don't remember seeing you around."

Fred shrugged, "It's been a good five years, actually. I can't believe we haven't crossed paths before. Where the hell have you been hiding yourself?"

Cedric made a helpless noise, "Around. In the mountains mostly, with my great-uncle."

They began to walk down the trail of the path side by side, and Fred shared all he knew about what had happened after Cedric's sudden death. Cedric expressed remorse that Harry reacted so strongly to his passing, and that Harry had nightmares. He asked about his parents, and Fred asked if he'd figured out how to talk to the really old souls.

"Not yet, but I've discovered that there is a sort of…of strata system to the afterlife. There's, like, separations every century or so. I think its so that you don't end up dead with a bunch of strangers you have nothing in common with, but it does make me sad because if means I may never see my great-grandma, who died a really long time ago but was supposed to have been pretty bad ass."

Fred raised his eyebrows, and Cedric elaborated.

"She decapitated her husband when she found out he was cheating on her."

Fred snorted, "You're kidding me. You…your whole family is so typically Hufflepuff. How the fuck do you have an ancestor like that?"

Cedric scowled, "Hey! Hufflepuffs have plenty of violence and stuff. I punched a guy for looking at me funny once."

Fred laughed and said he didn't believe him. They talked for a long time, and then Cedric said he had to go and take care of his great-uncle. They started seeing a lot of each other the next few years, and Fred was the one who figured out how to sneak past the barrier guards into new sectors of the afterlife.

Great Grandma Winnie did turn out to be a battleaxe, and she was still wearing her prison sack and socks when they found her sipping tea with Queen Victoria.

And then one day Cedric leaned his head on Fred's shoulder and Fred realized that George used to do that. There were a lot of things about Cedric that reminded him of George now that he thought about it, and he wondered if he subconsciously gravitated towards Cedric because of that or if it was just another contributing factor to their friendship.

He thought about all the things Cedric was that George wasn't. Cedric was more studious. Cedric cared more about what other people thought of him than Fred liked. And Cedric was…softer somehow. George had the same too-crazy fever that Fred did, a quality that set them apart from their peers even more than being twins did.

But Cedric didn't mind Fred's craziness at all, even when it was at his expense. He just seemed amused by it, and he would give Fred this fond look whenever Fred boasted about some trick he'd pulled. Fred began to live for Cedric's reactions and approval without noticing it.

He tried to imagine what would have happened if he hadn't run into Cedric and shuddered at the thought. His mind would've wandered away from him like an unruly child and he'd find himself gibbering alone beneath a tree.

It took Great Grandma Winnie slyly commenting that they sure spent a whole lot of time together for Fred to realize what they must look to other people. After an hour's thought he realized he didn't care what they thought, and if Cedric did he would've stopped hanging around with Fred.

Cedric, Hufflepuff or not, turned out to be the braver one. He waited until they were seated on the edge of a small creek, during a lull in their conversation, to slip his hand into Fred's. He didn't look at him though he must have felt Fred's eyes fixed on his profile.

Fred curled his fingers around Cedric's.

~000~

End Eulogy


	16. Chapter 16

**Error**

Hannah was meeting someone that night for a blind date in the broom closet down the hall from the Room of Requirement. She hadn't met the guy before, but her friend Sheila insisted that he was a good guy who just wanted a no-strings-attached night with someone of similar aspirations.

Hannah wasn't a whore. She just didn't like commitment, but liked all the physical things that came from having a sweetheart. Because of this preference, she'd fumbled around with more than half the male students in her year at various points, usually when they were between relationships and wanted someone to be close to.

She'd been caught a few times, but always by Prefects from her House. Hufflepuffs looked after their own, so none of them reported her.

She hummed a little under her breath, swinging her hips as she made her way up the stairs to her destination.

At first she'd reluctant to trust Sheila considering that she'd fooled around with her current boyfriend a few times, but Sheila assured her there were no hard feelings. Because Hufflepuffs usually went out of their way to be honest with each other, Hannah believed her.

Entering the cupboard without knocking, knowing she was early, she stopped humming when she found someone extremely unexpected waiting there.

Millicent Bulstode looked up from her novel with a raised eyebrow.

"Can I help you?"

"Um…is Peter around?"

Millicent made a face, "Peter Grievey?"

Hannah nodded.

"You're lucky he's not around. That boy makes Crabbe look fit."

And then Hannah realized that Sheila must have played a dirty trick on her. She probably _was_ holding a grudge after all. With a groan she turned to go, and then paused. Turning slowly back around, she asked, "What are you doing here, if you don't mind my asking?"

Millicent shrugged, "its quiet here. Usually."

Hannah sat beside her on the floor, tucking her legs up under her. She knew Slytherins were good at revenge. That was one of the reasons no one fucked with them. Waiting a moment, she asked what she was reading. Millicent showed her the cover and went on reading. It was a Muggle book.

"Listen, I'll stop bothering you if you just tell me what you think I should do to get Sheila back for lying to me about Peter being, you know."

Millicent put away her book, suddenly interested. Hannah couldn't help but notice how large her hands were, and the stocky set of her shoulders. She wondered if Millicent would beat the shit out of Sheila for her if she paid her.

"I think…that you should let it go."

Hannah's eyebrows went up, "What? What kind of revenge is that?"

A slow perverse smile spread across Millicent's lips, which were almost colorless and rather nice now that Hannah was looking at them. She looked away while Millicent explained the scheme, "She will be expecting a reaction. By depriving her of one, you leave her without what she wanted most from this prank: a sense of victory. Do you see the beauty of it now?"

Hannah stared at her and then mirrored her smile.

"Brilliant!"

"I know," Millicent smirked and opened her book, "Now, are you going to stay and chat or will you piss off?"

"I will in a moment," Hannah leaned over and kissed Millicent's cheek, "You're very sweet to help me."

Millicent leaned in and, seizing the back of Hannah's blonde head with her free hand, and kissed her full on the mouth. Hannah made a sound of protest and then, when it started to feel nice, went with it. Millicent didn't release her until Hannah had somehow ended up in her lap, a squirmy mussed mess.

"There. Now, run along and come talk to me if you need advice like this again."

"…Right," Hannah breathlessly nodded. Millicent stood and helped Hannah find her feet again. She ushered her out of the closet and then closed the door on her, presumably to continue her reading alone.

She smiled and walked back to her dormitory.

~000~

End Error


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: This one is short 'cause I got a big exam on the 17th. But I promise on my word of honor that this will be the shortest thing by far in the whole collection.

**Espouse **

The wedding reception for the marriage of Arthur and Molly Weasley was in full swing. Sitting at the head table, which was really just an old trestle thing with a lace cloth on top and some flowers pinned to the corners, Molly and Arthur gossiped about their guests.

"I wonder if Mark and Vanessa will invite us to their wedding; they look awfully friendly, and Vanessa _did _catch my bouquet," Molly pointed them out with a jerk of her head, nearly dislodging her veil and wreath of daisies.

"Have you seen my mother's smug face?" Arthur whispered to Molly, grinning ear to ear. Molly giggled and took a sip of her champagne.

"I saw! She looks like someone gave her a gallon of Pepper-Up. Do you really think she can be that happy about us tying the knot?"

Arthur shrugged, "I guess so. I'd rather have this than disapproval, though. Merlin knows my mother is a hard woman to please," he laid his hand high on Molly's leg beneath the table, and she swatted it away with a blush.

"Behave! There will be plenty of time for that later."

They had seven children, though Arthur's mother didn't live long enough to see them all.

~000~

End Espouse


	18. Chapter 18

**Eloquent**

Gone was the troglodyte youth, replaced with a man the dimensions of a door made of bricks, square-jawed and striking. Harry was struck dumb. He realized, dimly, that it was unprofessional to stare at a potential customer over a business lunch instead of engaging them in constructive speech, but he realized this only very dimly indeed.

And then Gregory Goyle opened his mouth and, instead of the rumbly idiocies of the past, out came something so painfully eloquent that Harry felt ashamed of himself for not taking speaking classes so he could measure up.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shook his head, coming out of his deep freeze to take a drink of water, "No, I was just distracted by…a…bird."

Goyle gave him a look that said quite clearly that he knew Harry was lying but said nothing more on the subject. He was professional, didn't waste his breath on trivialities, and a very neat eater. In short, he was a perfect businessman and a credit to his high birth. Harry found himself very engaged with his proposal, and even took notes on his napkin for later consideration.

Not hiring Goyle as a consultant was unthinkable after experiencing the horrors of the two other candidates, and Harry found himself having lunch with Goyle every week. Goyle became Greg, and Potter became Harry. No matter how professional they were, personal details slipped through the cracks.

Harry discovered that Greg went to University with a double major of Advertising and Renaissance-era French Poetry. He hadn't known that Greg had any interest in poetry, or the arts of any kind. But, after snooping through the Ministry's archives, he found that Greg had published 3 books of poetry under a pseudonym and that all three had won awards for using traditional meter to express the recent trials of the Wizarding world. There was even one about Harry, and not an insulting one.

Harry read it and found himself blushing.

Greg found out that the reason Harry hadn't married Ginny Weasley was because she aborted their child without even telling him that she was pregnant. He asked why, since Harry had publicly argued that a woman should have the right to do what she wished with her body as long as all options were presented equally and truthfully. Harry responded, nervous to reveal something so private, that the one relationship deal-breaker for him was dishonesty, or the with-holding of information that affected him.

Greg also discovered that Harry worked seven days a week, including holidays, and hadn't taken a vacation or sick day in three years, since his break-up with Ginny.

Their lunch ran late one day due to the excessive amount of work they had to go through together, and once they finally finished, Greg suggested that he treat Harry to dinner and drinks to relax. Harry hesitated, but a jibe about cowardice from Greg made him surrender.

And somehow Greg talked him into going out again that weekend, ostensibly to discuss Harry's strategy for strong-arming a promotion (with pay this time). The promotion only came up once, and the rest of the evening was spent with their arms around each other.

Greg made some extremely logical arguments as to why Harry ought to be dating Greg and not all of them verbal.

~000~

End Eloquent

I always wondered why nobody considered the possibility that Crabbe and Goyle were just having an awkward phase at Hogwarts, that they would grow into successful businessmen. Oh well.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: HEY! I AM LEAVING TONIGHT AND WON'T BE BACK UNTIL TUESDAY MORNING. Because of this, I had to write all the stories in a lump and am now uploading them together. You can chose to read one a day and pretend I've uploaded them one at a time, or you can just gorge yourself all at once. It's your decision.

**Excruciating**

"After the cups, the marmalade, the tea

Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me"

-The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot

Astoria was nervous about becoming a Malfoy. Their name didn't carry half as much weight now as it had before the War, but it wasn't the opinion of the outside world that concerned her. What concerned her was how she was going to maintain a good rapport with the Malfoy matriarch. It was rumored that she had already dismissed the last two girls Draco brought to her for approval, one of them because she didn't like the girl's haircut and the other girl because she coughed.

She nervously took out her compact to check yet again that her hair was still coiled on top of her head in an elegant display of curl and pearl pins. The pins dug sharply into her sensitive skull, but her mother insisted it wasn't proper for a young lady to go around with her hair loose like some cheap whore.

Mrs. Malfoy came sweeping into the room at just that moment, catching her with her compact in her hand. Despair flooded through Astoria. It was all over now; she may as well go home. There was no way Mrs. Malfoy would let a vain mirror-checking girl marry her son.

But instead of shooing her out with all the freezing candor of a glacier, Mrs. Malfoy smiled pleasantly, sat, and rang a small silver bell for tea. Astoria unconsciously mimicked her posture, legs together and folded just slightly under her, angled to the left.

"Astoria Greengrass is it?"

Astoria bobbed her head, and immediately regretted it. She couldn't let her nerves show. She needed to be as cool and crisp as her hostess; lifting her chin, she let a faint sphinx-like smile hover around the corners of her lips. It was the expression her mother told her was acceptable for a young unmarried woman to wear at all times, as it gave the impression that she had a secret and therefore intrigued others, others that could be used for forming a network of allies and possibly procuring a husband.

"I apologize if I don't recall having met you before; are you any relation to Daphne?"

"I am her younger sister, madam."

Narcissa smiled again and asked after her mother's health. Surprised by this, having expected an interrogation and not pleasant chitchat, Astoria answered as politely as possible. Narcissa asked a few more questions about her father's business, what she'd been up to since graduation, and how she liked the spring weather so far.

Astoria began to relax. The tales of Mrs. Malfoy's icy personality were obviously lies, very possibly borne out of jealousy for her still immense fortune and beauty. Though at least in her forties, Mrs. Malfoy looked like she'd been frozen in time and her age was impossible to ascertain from her face or figure. She could be her son's older sister. Astoria worked hard to keep her eyes on her face and not her trim waist. She'd long struggled with an attraction to the fairer sex, an attraction that her father had failed to beat out of her. It was decided at last that the best they could do for her was to marry her young to someone she wouldn't dare to betray in adultery.

And then the polite chatter ran its course to the end, and they moved onto more personal topics. Somehow, though her charm and warm voice, Mrs. Malfoy managed to worm all sorts of private information out of Astoria. She spoke about her family, her sister's jealousy of her superior intellect, and her aspirations to found a magazine that would present fair articles about the Pureblood upper class unlike the Daily Prophet, which mostly published ridiculous un-researched articles that presented them as monsters.

Astoria would've been horrifed at her candor under any other circumstances, but there was something about her prospective mother-in-law that made her feel at ease in a way she never had before. It became more difficult to abstain from admiring her in any obvious way. Still, her eyes drifted to the flash of slim ankle that peeped from beneath her modest robes.

Finally Mrs. Malfoy swallowed her miniscule bite of tea cake to say, "As much as I have enjoyed making your acquaintance, as you are a brilliant conversationalist and have some very good ideas, I doubt you came here to make small talk with me, Miss Greengrass. What can I do for you?"

Astoria hadn't counted on this. She had assumed that Mrs. Malfoy already knew of her son's interest in her. Her mind wiped clean as a slate, and then she opened her mouth out of pure training and replied, "I am here to present myself for your approval in the instance of my possible marriage to your son."

Mrs. Malfoy did not react other than to take a delicate sip of tea. She set aside her cup instead of keeping it in her lap as she had for most of their chat. Her eyes were inscrutable as they roved over Astoria's seated figure. Astoria had to fight herself to keep from straightening her shoulders further or lifting her chin in defiance.

"No."

Astoria was bewildered.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, do forgive me for not being clear. No, I do not approve of you as a bride for my son."

Astoria remained seated and composed with an effort, "Would it be pressing of me to request an explanation?"

She got one of those gorgeous smiles and a glib, "No, of course not. I do not consider you a suitable match for my son. This is not out of personal dislike or anything that you have done wrong. I just believe that you would be unhappy together. You would bring great financial assets and creative vision to the family, however. And that is why," she stood and crossed the room to sit beside Astoria on the mint-colored sofa, "I would like to propose that you become _my _wife, and not my son's."

You could've knocked Astoria over with a feather. Feeling dizzy, she could only look at Narcissa with eyes as wide as a new born calf's. Narcissa took her hand and smiled at her, "Please don't feel any pressure from me, Astoria. Our acquaintance shall not be harmed by your answer, no matter its nature."

Astoria felt such an overwhelming wave of excruciating bliss that she fainted straight away.

~000~ 

End Excruciating

Narcissa would so steal Draco's girlfriend. She's that kind of woman.


	20. Chapter 20

**Evolution **

Getting thrown into jail and bailed out by the same person is not something many people in the common populace have the pleasure of experiencing. George could've done without the experience, really.

"You and your jerk behavior got us into this mess!" he hissed, adjusted his sleeves and struggling to do up the pesky buttons of his cuffs. Fred kept trying to help, but he was angry with Fred and didn't want his help right now, whether he needed it or not.

Fred sighed gustily, and then offered to buy him tea and cake at the shop around the corner.

"That would be favorite, yes," George snapped. He was in no mood to forgive, but he could never turn down cake and he hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. As they walked down the street towards the shop, George grumbled,

"I should very much like to know how long you were planning on leaving me there kicking my heels."

Fred snatched at his hand and finally wrestled George into letting him hold it. George knew that once his hand was safely clasped in Fred's, his ability to stay angry would shrink. They held hands as children until they went to Hogwarts as a way of showing affection to each other. Being grown men they rarely did so anymore, but it still happened when one of them was upset.

"Come on Georgie, you know how hard it can be to get Lee to loan us cash. I had to wheedle for your bail for ages, you know. It's not my fault it took so long," Fred wheedled very well, but George was not in the mood to be forgiving.

"A man with a beard growing out of his nose fondled me, Fred, _fondled me!"_

A woman walking by with her groceries raised her eyebrows and turned her head to give them a second glance.

George complained about the horrors of his evening, including the part where Fred's foolishness was responsible for his stay in prison in the first place, until he had his cake in front of him. Once he'd taken a bite it became impossible to keep up his tirade, so he satisfied himself with one more good glare before he squeezed Fred's hand and released it.

At their flat above the shop Fred drew him a bath and poured in a liberal amount of menthol oil. George sat in it until the stiffness from sleeping overnight in prison faded away. 

Fred knelt on the tile floor beside him and rested his cheek against George's damp one.

After a while George whispered, "How did this happen?"

Fred turned his head to kiss his hairline, "How did what happen?"

George waved a hand, "You know. Us. This."

Fred kissed his brow bone, his nose, and then the damp lips beneath it. His neck was craned at an uncomfortable angle to do so, but George's kisses were worth all the discomfort in the world. Finally he pulled his lips from George's and replied, "Evolution, I guess."

And then he stripped off his clothes and clambered into the tub with his twin. George put his feet on his shoulders and smiled at him across the expanse of steaming water.

"I love you, you prat."

"'Love you too," Fred kissed his foot, "I don't want to have you away for a whole night like that again." 

"Don't piss off a police officer who will then mistake me for you again and you won't have to," George responded, reaching beneath the water for his brother's warm knobby knee.

~000~

End Evolution


	21. Chapter 21

**Emasculate **

Spider Lilies, unfussy and striking, crowded the walk up to their small home.

On Hermione's advice (nagging), Harry had requested a day off to recover his missed sleep. He'd been on four back-to-back cases this month and he was feeling run down and just generally miserable; he was convinced he'd had the same tension headache for three weeks running.

He picked a pair of the lilies, tied them with a long blade of grass, and entered his house. Hermione was in the study, he knew. She was always in the study. He sighed and toed off his shoes, knowing that she hated it when he tracked anything through the house, no matter how easy it was to clean the mess.

He hung his coat on the hook she bought so he'd never lose his jacket again, and strolled into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water, using the glass she assigned for his water use. He'd used her cognac glass by accident once and gotten such a tirade from her about keeping organized that he looked twice ever since at what he was drinking from.

"Hermione, you are a pedantic shrew, but I do love you so," he murmured to the kitchen, smiling fondly at the alphabetized herbs crowding the windowsill over the sink. He dumped the remainder of his water into their soil instead of down the sink. She was very firm about recycling and not wasting resources.

She was writing a letter to someone important when he entered her study, and waved him away. He shrugged and went upstairs to shower and sleep. He kept his shower less than ten minutes long, and used hot water only for the first half.

It was tiresome at first, all these little rules, but he knew each and every one had its purpose. They were not rules for the sake of despotism, but rules for the sake of efficiency and consideration towards one's planet.

He stretched with a groan and climbed into bed.

Hermione woke him up for dinner and some marital pleasures and then let him go back to sleep, carding her hands through his short hair. It was things like that that made him love her despite her many rules and that one week out of the month went she become completely neurotic.

When he woke up she was still asleep, her alarm not having gone off yet. He felt completely rested and calmer than he had in a long time. He admired her bare chest in the dim morning sunlight and then got quietly out of bed and went downstairs.

He knew she was awake in the next ten minutes when he heard the floor creak as she went to use the loo.

He prepared breakfast and went through their mail as his wife lounged in bed.

Was he emasculated by his wife? Yes. Did this upset him? No.

~000~

End Emasculate


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: an eidolon is the astral double or phantom of someone.

**Eidolon **

There was a vase of harebells on his desk. Albus couldn't say where it came from. He had no memory of receiving or gathering them. He sat at his desk and spent an hour just looking at them, a valuable hour that he should have spent working.

Harebells weren't just another flower to him. His childhood home had been practically buried in harebells every spring and summer, a sea of swaying bells that filled the air with a scent that he would forever associate with Gellert.

He swallowed and reached out to touch one of the little flowers.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw something move. He retracted his hand and had his wand pointing at the blob in half a second. He might be nearing 200, but his reflexes were still as keen as a knife's edge.

His wand faltered when he realized what his eyes were seeing.

Gellert sat on the windowsill, swinging his legs and smiling at him in the special way they had before everything fell the pieces. But it wasn't Gellert. Gellert was physically twisted and black as soot inside when Albus saw him last, madness shining bright from his still-blue eyes. Albus often reflected that killing his friend and sometimes-lover would have been far easier if only his eyes had changed somehow.

"Hello, Albus." 

His voice, too, was unchanged from when he only an ambitious young man and not the second-most feared Dark Lord of all time. His hair, long and blonde, shone in the spring sunshine. Albus gazed at him without speaking. What could he say?

"I suppose you're wondering how I came to be here," Gellert prodded in a helpful tone, "and since you obviously need a moment to collect yourself, I'll go on ahead and explain. I am an eidolon. I am everything Gellert was before he sold his soul to the shadows of dark magic. And I am here from the after life to lay your fears to rest. I am the one waiting for you, not my later nightmarish counter-part."

Albus felt the words pour over his soul like a balm. He smiled.

Gellert hopped off the windowsill and kissed his cheek. He whispered in his ear, "You'll be dead by next year, darling. I'll be waiting."

And then he vanished like a slip of sunshine on a cloudy day. Albus stared at the spot where he'd stood, and his hand rose to touch his wrinkled cheek where the tickle of Gellert's kiss remained. He then looked at the harebells, which shivered merrily in the wind that came through the open window. Their scent made him think of youth and the days before care and worry weighed him down like a miller's stone wrapped 'round his neck.

He didn't think he minded the thought of dying half as much now.

~000~

End Eidolon


	23. Chapter 23

**Emotional**

Myrtle/Cho FEMSLASH

Cho didn't mean to cry. She was too shocked to do so at first, when Harry came back in that dim field with one arm thrown over her too-still boyfriend. And then she was hurried away and smothered with so many concerned people, many of whom had never spoken to her before, that she was too disoriented and annoyed to grieve. She started to tell herself that she'd be fine. That she'd accepted his death, and that she would go and visit his grave later with dignity and poise, as was proper.

But then she ducked into the girl's room to adjust her hair on her way back to her Common Room, and fell to pieces. It was the bathroom that was normally 'out of order' due to a ghost of some kind flooding it when it suited her.

She walked up to the mirror and pulled her comb out of her pocket, running it through her straight hair to smooth her flyaways and adjust the sweep of her fringe.

Something wet dripped down her cheek. She thought something was in her eye and leaned close to the mirror, touching her finger to her lower eyelid and pulling it away from her face. More liquid came out, this time from both eyes.

Numbness overset her face, and she could no longer feel the big fat drops dripping down her face and dropping off her chin onto her breasts.

Sudden cold overtook her, freezing the tears on her cheeks and fogging the mirror with hoarfrost. She turned around and found a ghost girl standing mere inches away, a ghostly hankie in her hands. She wrung it nervously, eyes darting behind her spectacles.

"I…I…are you alright?"

"Y-Yes," Cho choked out, her voice thick with emotion, "I'm fine. Sorry to have intruded. I'll just go now…"

"No! No, stay a while. I'll comfort you. Lots of students come here when they're sad. It's no bother."

Cho was feeling dizzy now, and could barely see, so she just nodded and sank to the floor, crossing her legs at the ankles and hugging her arms for warmth.

"My name's Myrtle."

"Oh. I'm Cho."

Myrtle floated a few feet off the ground, sitting in the lotus position. She readjusted her pigtails for a moment and then asked, "Why are you crying?"

"My boyfriend was killed tonight."

Myrtle gasped and floated over to hover beside her, her shoe at level with Cho's shoulder. She touched the top of her head, her fingers disappearing into her skull.

"Oh you poor girl…" 

Cho spent most of her free time there for the rest of the year, and returned to visit in the next. Somehow Myrtle was the only person in the entire castle that seemed to understand her.

~000~

End Emotional


	24. Chapter 24

**Erudite **

Dark eyes lifted from the overly-casual examination of his nails to peruse the cottage.

Huge lilies, delphiniums, and geraniums fairly exploded in and out of one window box, while its twin contained far more demure herbs. Basil, chives, and parsley formed their private symphony of green.

Severus wasn't sure how he'd ended up having tea with Hagrid, but it'd happened. It may have had something to do with Albus assuring him that everyone else on the staff was on friendly terms with one another, whereas Severus was on friendly terms with none of them. He was told to pick someone, refused, and so Albus picked Hagrid.

How this translated to tea was beyond him. The most he'd been planning on doing was nodding to his co-worker when he saw him at dinner.

Hagrid set a teacup the size of a bowl in front of him with a smile that was a touch shy. Severus fought a scowl. Hagrid was a Hufflepuff to the very marrow of his bones, and he wasn't used to their friendliness, their…feelings.

"Do you take cream?"

Severus started. Hagrid had made an effort to pronounce every letter of his sentence, and the words came out sounding quite different from his usual gruffness. He sounded almost genteel. He nodded.

Hagrid wasn't sure what to do with himself. Albus took him aside a week ago and told him that Severus Snape needed a friend, and that he would like it if Hagrid were that friend. He hadn't said much to the potion's master before, but it wasn't as though Severus spoke to the other staff, so his silence hadn't been noticed.

Unlike his colleagues, Hagrid hadn't avoided Severus out of dislike or hurt feelings from his acerbic tongue. He admired Severus more than anyone else alive short of Dumbledore. The things he could make in those laboratories of his, the way he could reduce anyone, no matter how high their station, to the size of an ant with his tongue, and the way he had of walking so he seemed to swoop instead of step.

Hagrid had been harboring a bit of crush since Severus came to Hogwarts as a professor, if one was being honest. He knew he wasn't sophisticated like Severus was and that there was a high chance Severus didn't prefer men to women, but logic never had much hold over his feelings.

He sat down opposite his guest and couldn't contain a smile. Severus had put his fingers together, deliberating as to whether or not he should risk eating the scone. He was incredibly fond of scones, though he wouldn't admit that under torture.

Hagrid continued to admire him, comfortable in the silence. If Severus didn't want to talk, then Hagrid wouldn't talk. He admired Severus' beautiful, clever hands; they were pale as smooth-sculptured stone.

Severus was like a foreign creature compared to the other professors. He was so erudite, he could probably teach any one of their subjects should they take sick. Hagrid let out a little sigh and gulped his tea. Severus' eyes flicked from the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling to raise an eyebrow at him.

Hagrid grinned. He liked Severus' eyebrows.

Severus burst into Dumbledore's office and perched as gracefully as a hawk on the edge of the sparkly spangled sofa that appeared in front of the giant desk.

"We had tea. We didn't speak more than a few words to one another, and the though the tea was nice, there appeared to be absolutely no point to the exercise. I demand to know why I must dedicate any of my extremely valuable personal time to drinking tea in silence with your groundskeeper!"

Albus gave him a grandfatherly smile and somehow twisted things around so that Severus found himself in his laboratory, bewildered to realize that he'd agreed to go out for drinks with Hagrid that Saturday.

At the pub, Severus broke the code of silence between them, an act that spiraled out of his control and resulted in Hagrid explaining to him why so-called dark creatures really were not different from those that labeled them as such.

"They are most eldritch creatures, Vampires. But they enjoy a hot meal as much as the next person."

Hagrid had finished his speech, and Severus was reluctantly impressed. Instead of the rambling emotional mumble he'd been expecting, Hagrid (or Rubeus, as he'd asked to be called) had made a well-structured and at times humorous argument for his case.

"I don't have anything against the majority of dark creatures."

"Just werewolves, right?" Hagrid agreed, nodding with him.

"Yes."

Severus drank more heavily than he normally would have, the anecdote about werewolves dredging up memories he preferred to repress. Hagrid began to sing as he approached heavy intoxication, and Severus thought that he had a fine voice. They stumbled back to Hogwarts at four in the morning, Severus humming in accompaniment to Hagrid's baritone.

Not wanting to risk traversing the maze of dungeons in the dark alone whilst drunker than he'd been since he was twenty and on a bender, he asked if he could sleep on a rug at Hagrid's cottage.

He didn't notice the extra flush on his friend's cheeks, the one that nothing to do with liquor.

He ended up in the bed, not on the floor, and passed out with one skinny black-garbed arm flung over Hagrid's broad chest.

Hagrid cooked breakfast while Severus slept, glancing over his shoulder to look at him curled up in his bed, the morning sun making his skin shine whiter than paper. He looked so different in sleep. His infatuation fed greedily off of the sight, and urged him to become more daring in their subsequent time spent together.

Severus seemed to bloom around him, revealing private sections and layers of his personality that no one but his mother and Lily had seen before. And despite himself, he found that he was more than just fond of Hagrid. There was something about the sheer physicality and warmth of the man that made him get goose bumps. And daily Hagrid could surprise him with a new depth of intelligence and insight that he hadn't believed him capable of six months previous.

A shy peck on his cheek on Christmas Eve in a hallway deserted of students let him know that Hagrid wasn't the only one feeling more than friendly.

~000~

End Erudite


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving! That may or may not be sarcastic, depending on the individual reader's relationship with their relatives.

**Elaborate **

Godric glared at Salazar's stupid, handsome, mustached face.

They were taking supper in his personal study seeing as Rowena and Helga's feminine cycles were in tune and required them to remain in their private chambers at the time. Godric was not fond of having anyone, even people he liked, in his study. However, Salazar's dungeons had been flooded yet again and the Great Hall was very lonely to eat in during the summer with all the students gone.

Salazar was currently walking all over his arguments about natural moral laws.

"…We hear about crimes that are discovered or solved. But what about those never discovered? "Crimes cause their own detection" is a naïve concept…"

Godric narrowed his eyes and slurped his broth. He was getting over a brief illness and his stomach was still delicate. Salazar paused in his methodical break-down of Godric's idealism to take a neat nibble of mutton. Why he ate like a woman, all mincing fingers and delicacy, was a mystery that he hadn't solved yet.

Salazar continued to talk, and Godric turned his eyes over to the window. The afterlight lingered, singeing the sky orange. Mauve-colored clouds, once pink, striped bars across his window.

Salazar had stopped speaking and was looking at him. Godric flushed. He probably wanted him to respond somehow, but he hadn't been paying attention. Rowena said it was his biggest weakness; if only he could focus, he could win any argument (and there were many amongst them).

Not knowing what else to say, he muttered, "You're a rogue, Salazar; a thief, a criminal; your ideas…if everyone believed in them, the world would be a lawless place."

Salazar shrugged, "But the world _is _a lawless place."

Godric was prepared for that, and retorted, "No, it isn't. There are rules. The sun rises in the east, sets in the west. Flowers wither and die in the winter, but they bloom again in the springtime. Men and women fall in love, and children result from their marriages."

His friend/enemy smiled and shook his head, "No, no, no. Not always that way. We have record of the sun stopping its path across the sky, of famines where winter stretches for many years and nothing grows, and there are many women who love women and men who love men."

Godric scoffed, "I disagree with your final example. In Greece and the Orient, yes, but here? No. I have never met a man or woman who preferred their own sex."

Salazar drank from his flagon, not spilling a drop. When he had finished, he leaned forward across the low table between their benches and asked in a low voice, "Are you so sure of that?"

The firelight turned his eyes red and his skin to gold. Godric looked away. He did not like to look at Salazar's beauty. It made him feel things that he couldn't explain, and his stomach to twist itself like a snake.

"What are you trying to say?"

"I love you."

Godric was sure he had heard wrong, but then Salazar repeated it and rose from his bench as though lifted by a power outside himself.

"I love you so that I would give you anything in the world you wanted. Hell, I'd give you the Labyrinth at Knossos, the moon, anything!" Salazar had ended up on his knees beside Godric's bench now, and Godric wasn't quite sure how he felt about this.

"You are lying to prove yourself correct," he snarled, forcing the ire he didn't feel. He felt like a small boy: confused and over-powered. Salazar leaned in closer, forcing Godric to look at him. His eyes weren't slitted and clever like they usually were when he was pulling one of his tricks. Godric sat very still, feeling Salazar's breaths against his face. He smelt like the huckleberry jelly he'd had with his mutton.

Salazar moved still nearer, and Godric felt him drop a gentle kiss on his chin. He looked unsure, shy, and began to chew the inside of his cheek. Godric thought over the events of the evening, and suddenly saw a clear trail of connected dots. His mouth dropped open.

"You planned this entire conversation! You planned every point, predicted my every word, just so you could create a situation where you could…you know. Good god, man, why must everything be so elaborate with you? All of that just so you could…" he couldn't bring himself to say it. Salazar said it for him.

"What? Kiss you?"

Godric flushed bright as a rose and looked resolutely out the window at the blackening sky.

Salazar chuckled without cruelty and laid his hand on Godric's cheek, pulling him over so he'd look at him. "Do you really have no feeling for me in that heart of yours? None at all but those of brotherhood?"

Godric couldn't lie, "Your…feelings are not entirely…"

Salazar raised an eyebrow, "Entirely what?"

"Unreturned…" he whispered, looking down. He was recovering from an illness, trying to have his supper. He wasn't prepared for this kind of thing! But as Salazar bent his head to rest it against his knee, he couldn't say that he had a very large grudge against his long-time friend. Things were frequently difficult between them, and this was bound to make things yet more complicated.

But he didn't care, not tonight. He curled his fingers into Salazar's hair and petted him like a dog. Salazar hummed against his hip and embraced his waist.

"Does this mean that I can lie in your bed tonight?"

Godric slapped the top of his head, "Why you…!"

~000~

End Elaborate


	26. Chapter 26

**Earnest **

Hugo Weasley was born with his father's delinquent streak and his mother's vast ability to retain and compute information. He was nicknamed The Devil at the age of three and it stuck. At Hogwarts he was popular, partially because no one wanted to get on his bad side and partially because he was incredibly entertaining to be around.

His sister was no more subdued, and was considered a bit of a loud-mouth book lover, though a loveable one. Hugo and Rose remained close despite their age difference. Besides their love of learning, both shared a peculiar brand of earnestness. They really meant everything they said and did.

Rose was the one to suggest that Hugo might not be straight when he complained about a lack of excitement when it came to taking out girls. He thought about it and decided that maybe she was right.

Rose had inadvertently set in motion a chain of events that would end with Hugo bursting into her bedroom one summer afternoon and declaring, "I fancy Teddy!"

Teddy Lupin was a lot older than them, so she talked him out of trying anything. Hugo sulked for a month, but agreed when Basil, a boy they'd grown up with, asked Hugo out for a date. Hugo appeared to have moved on, so Rose let herself relax.

Years without incident lulled her into a false sense of security, leading her to be just as shocked as the rest of the family when Hugo planted one of Teddy on Valentine's Day the year he turned twenty.

Instead of recoiling or even shouting for being pounced upon, Teddy swung Hugo down almost to the floor like they did in musicals and kissed him until their family began shouting that they get a room.

Rose had to smile. Hugo must've made one of his earnest speeches to Teddy to convince him that he wasn't some kid.

~000~

End Earnest


	27. Chapter 27

**Etiquette **

Andromeda was raised as a pure-blood, but she didn't marry one and therefore left a lot of the conventional manners and the stiff social pantomimes behind her. Her daughter Nymphadora was allowed to grow up free from that, with only the necessary things like 'please' and 'thank you' to go by.

Her grandson Theodore was raised in much the same way. She didn't see the point in restricting her admittedly wild precious child with unnecessary rules. He was happy, she knew, and loved her as much as she loved him.

But then Teddy took up with Bill Weasley's daughter, Victoire, who was a different kettle of fish entirely. She'd been raised to conduct herself with propriety and poise since day one, and her mother, that bizarre French woman, clearly disapproved of her grandson.

Andromeda was not going to tolerate anyone looking down on her grandson, so she asked Harry if she could visit Grimmauld Place. Once there she dug out the old books of etiquette from the library, which was as dismal as she remembered from her regrettable childhood.

She hoped Teddy really loved this girl, and that he would forgive her for making him figure out the polite way to eat asparagus.

Teddy was able to impress his girlfriend's family, and Victoire fairly glowed every time she looked at him. Andromeda couldn't help but smirk at having elevated her grandson in their eyes. That served them right for thinking he was a barbarian.

~000~

End Etiquette


	28. Chapter 28

**Eruption**

Bellatrix smirked at her from across the heavy oak table separating. She breathed a spiral of smoke into the air. It was a deliberate and unequivocal insult.

Millicent was unfazed by her patient's antics. She'd gone into the field of abnormal psychology against the wishes of her father, but her rapid rise to a position of dominance in her field made him swallow hi remarks. On the request of the Minister, she was examining the inmates of Azkaban one by one to ascertain which of them were criminally insane and which were merely criminal.

Oddly enough, Bellatrix Lestrange was coming across as completely sane. Millicent wasn't sure if she was just a great actress or if she really was pretending to be a psychotic death-obsessed cannibal all those years.

She met her patient's eyes and repeated her question. Bellatrix's eyes were stiff with contempt and her lip curled with malignity. So far she'd been very controlled, only giving her some trouble when it came to focusing on the matter at hand.

Bellatrix finally answered, and Millicent made a note on her pad.

And then Millicent asked about Bellatrix's relationship with her father, and Bellatrix fairly erupted with emotion. There were tears, there was screaming, there was angry hissing. Millicent watched all of this from within her protective bubble with clinical interest, taking note of theories that occurred to her and transcribing every clear sentence she managed to pick out of the verbal vomit.

Dandelion clock. Tragedienne. Maidenhead. Briar roses.

The words didn't appear to hold any connection, though Millicent began to piece together that Bellatrix's maidenhead must have been torn by her father in a…briar patch? And the word tragedienne was a slightly outdated term for a tragic actress, and hadn't Bellatrix starred in the Muggle play Macbeth in school?

She frowned. Did Mr. Lestrange attack his daughter for acting in a Muggle play? And were the dandelions somehow symbolic of her neglected home life?

Finally all the fire seemed to go out of Bellatrix and she slumped to the floor, looking as though she had about as much energy as a puddle of wax after her violent episode. Millicent noticed that somehow she'd smashed the knuckles of her left hand, and that they were oozing blood onto the tile floor.

She wrote this down along with her conjectures and pressed the concealed button in her desk for the orderlies.

In the ensuing weeks she saw Bellatrix for two hours every afternoon, trying to get to the bottom of what her father did to her. If she could just break through the walls Bellatrix had made around it, she could get Bellatrix to heal and move on. In the other hours of the day she completed her analysis of the rest of the inmates. Only 20% of them were criminally insane, a fact that made her feel a little sick despite herself.

It took an eruption larger than her first one, which ended with Bellatrix falling into a dead faint, for the whole story to come out.

Her role as Lady Macbeth did send her father into a rage, but it was the event of being beaten in the face with a bouquet of thorny flowers that made her mention briar roses; he did not sexually assault her for another month, and that was after discovering that she'd become friendly with a Muggleborn boy. She was thirteen years old.

Millicent still didn't know where the dandelion clocks came in. perhaps they were a symbol of innocence, blown to bits in the wind?

She didn't press the issue, but focused on bringing anything else Bellatrix may have repressed to the surface. The result of this process, which took four long years, was a completely different woman... a woman that Millicent was attracted to.

She tried not to let this affect her professionalism, but she suspected she'd let something slip from the way Bellatrix started to throw her coy little smiles.

Finally there was nothing else she could do for Bellatrix. She would never be released from prison (she was safer inside it than out, considering how many people wanted her dead), so Millicent tried to move on; she really did. But she found herself visiting Bellatrix at prison, and finally Bellatrix had a different eruption.

Looking up from the paper Millicent brought her, she baldly suggested that Millicent request a conjugal visit. Millicent spluttered that they weren't married and Bellatrix smirked.

"Then why don't you ask me?"

~000~

End Eruption


	29. Chapter 29

**Epiphany **

Low drooping pine boughs winter-weighed with snow muffled all sound for miles around. Remus crept carefully through the wood, keeping alert for anything living besides himself. He stepped lightly, keeping his tracks to a minimum. A stray cat wandered past him, unconcernedly stalking an ignorant red squirrel.

Being a registered Werewolf meant moving around a lot, and sleeping outside more often than not. There weren't a lot of wizards that liked having his kind around, and Muggle housing was very expensive (Wizards can expand their living space at will, a fact that results in lowering their costs to about a fifth of the comparable Muggle equivalent).

He finally found a small sheltered thicket just big enough to fit his tent inside. The entrance was low and brambly and scratched his bare fingertips and cheeks as he slithered through, pushing his pack in front of him.

Setting up his tent proved to be a delicate procedure that required multiple attempts before he managed to succeed.

Crawling inside, he sighed as the embedded heating charms began to make the space quite cozy. He removed his boots and damp socks, rubbing his feet vigorously to restore their circulation. Once he was satisfied that he wasn't going to lose any of his extremities, he opened the smoke hole at the peak of his cone-shaped tent and started a small fire on the frozen ground.

He ate a small supper of bread and half a potato he'd found in the trash a while ago. A newspaper, several weeks old, was his entertainment while he waited for exhaustion to set in and let him sleep.

He drifted off in front of his fire, wrapped in an old army blanket.

Sometime in the night he was awakened by the sound of something scratching at the side of his tent. Brushing it off as a fox or maybe a stray dog, he went back to sleep. The same sound, accompanied by something brushing against the fabric very close to where he was lying woke him up again in another hour.

Annoyed now, Remus used his wand to make a loud 'crack' sound, hoping that it would scare the thing off. No such luck. The creature moved around the perimeter of the tent, coming to stop by the zipped entrance. Remus began to feel afraid, and moved to a defensive crouch, wand at the ready in one hand and his knife in the other.

The zipper began to descend slowly, bringing in a frigid draft of winter wind.

Remus was tense as a bowstring now. This was either an extremely clever beast or he was dealing with a possibly-crazed hobo. A head poked in, and Remus jumped. For a moment he couldn't tell if it was man or beast, and then its features seemed to melt into a face that was entirely human. He thought it must have been some trick of the shadows. The face smiled at him, showing off teeth that seemed too sharp for its mouth.

"Warm here. Can I stay?"

Remus blinked. Did this person not speak English natively? Not knowing what else to do and his natural sense of compassion overpowering his protective instincts, he nodded. The face smiled and crawled inside, revealing that the body attached was very large and could easily overpower Remus if it came down to that. He was wrapped in the skins of squirrels and foxes, crudely sewn together. What looked like a collie dog's pelt was tied across his chest like a trophy. He looked like a caveman, only without a long beard.

The caveman was good looking, in a wilder-than-the-wind kind of way. Remus liked the sparkle of mischief in his eyes even as he felt threatened by it. He seated himself across from Remus and dug into his pelts. Remus had already put away his knife and lowered his wand so it would look like a piece of kindling to the man he assumed was a Muggle. He regretted that now, believing that his guest was reaching for a weapon.

To his surprise, the stranger removed a package wrapped in brown paper. Removing the paper, he revealed a large piece of salted pork.

"Want?"

Remus nodded.

They shared a small meal of strips of the meat that Remus cooked in the ashes of his fire. Once fuller than he'd been in years, he waited for his guest to drift first before daring to sleep himself.

Come morning Remus found his mysterious guest gone. He went out and foraged the area for tubers and entered the small nearby town to check at their bakery. Bakers frequently had leftover stale bread that they would otherwise throw out, and were more than happy to give it to him instead.

When he returned to his tent, he found the stranger once again inside, wrapping fresh meat in newspaper. He nodded towards a slab of it heating on the rocks that surrounded the fire. Again the image of a caveman came to Remus. He sniffed it and recognized it as fox. He sat close to the fire and waited for it to cook. He tried to strike up conversation with the stranger, but his new friend's vocabulary was limited and they didn't have much to talk about without becoming rude.

Remus desperately wanted to know how this man had become such a savage this close to civilization but couldn't bring himself to pry. His natural reticence had only grown since James' death and Sirius' imprisonment. Without them to draw him out, he shrank deep into himself like a turtle into its shell. His nameless companion's handsome but scarred face was just another factor that kept him silent.

They shared the tent for the rest of the month in harmony, relocating twice to warmer areas as they found necessary. Remus provided bread and nearly-rotted vegetables from in town, where he could pass for normal, and the stranger provided meat and furs for insulation and furnishing.

When the full moon approached, Remus made up an excuse of visiting a friend for a few days, and the stranger accepted this with a grunt.

He moved many miles from their little camp in hopes that his wolf would not be able to scent the man and devour him. There was no such luck. As soon as he changed, he felt something primal deep within his wolf called like a moth to the flame to the tent. Deep inside the wolf, Remus was confused. This had never happened before. He feared for his friend's life.

When he came within a half-mile of the camp, he smelled something completely new. It was like smelling himself, but older…stronger. His wolf body cowered and slunk close to the trees, wary and on edge. Remus had no idea what was going on, but it was making him nervous. There was something here.

And then, in a rush of scent and blurred grey fur, something landed on top of him. He yelped and bit and clawed at it, trying to escape. A paw half the size of his head landed on his chest and held him down. His amber eyes looked up at a wolf that could be nothing less than an Alpha. Its sheer size made it a master of its kind, and the many scars littering its face spoke of battles fought and won.

Remus panicked and let his wolf side dominate completely. It held still and let the alpha sniff it. And then, just when Remus was sure he was going to be slaughtered, the alpha backed off and sat back on its haunches. Something about the way it cocked its great grey head was familiar. Remus slowly rolled onto all fours and kept his stomach low to the ground, just in case it was in any danger of being swiped.

The alpha jerked its head, and somehow Remus translated that as an invitation to come hunting with it. They steered clear of the human village, much to Remus' surprise, and instead spent the night chasing foxes for sport and taking down a wild dog that terrorized the local shepherds. It was delicious, and Remus felt a contentment he'd never before felt when a werewolf.

The slept the day away in a small cave, the alpha curled around Remus, his tail a fur scarf under his chin.

Remus lay awake inside his wolf's body, wondering if this alpha was a wolf or a werewolf. Yes, his size was immense, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. He could just be a freak of nature, or a migrant from the mountains.

They hunted again the next night, and Remus vaguely noticed that the alpha let him eat the more delicate parts of their quarry, an honor that puzzled him. Again they fell asleep together, and hunted for the third and final night.

As they lay down for Remus' final night as a wolf, the alpha nuzzled his stomach affectionately and swished him with his tail when Remus got shy. Butterflies skated through Remus' stomach. They were very close to his campsite, and he thanked the stars that his strange friend was safe for now. He wondered if he'd be able to escape from the alpha if he really was a wolf come morning. If he could just slip away and get his wand, he had a fighting chance. If not, he was breakfast.

He didn't sleep all night, and then, when his body commenced the painful process of crushing his bones into his human shape, he bit straight through his lip in an effort to stay quiet. He dared not open his eyes and see the alpha ready to devour him. He might have been a Gryffindor, but few men have the courage to look their death in the eyes.

Moving ever so carefully, gentle and slow, he tried to extricate himself. Some quiet voice in the dim corners of his mind noticed that he wasn't touching fur but flesh. This realization filtered to the front of Remus' consciousness, and he caught his breath. Opening his eyes, he looked down and saw a man.

It was the stranger! The man whose name he still didn't know. He stopped still and just watched him sleep, taking in the clues that he would have noticed had his human mind possessed more power over that of his wolf. The fur was the same grey-black of his friend's hair; his massive size corresponded with his friend's larger-than-average dimensions, none of which was fat or soft.

Even the way he moved, all controlled power and animal energy, was the same.

His friend stirred and then suddenly he was awake. He struck out quick as a snake and wrapped a hand around Remus' wrist, keeping him there. Remus looked at his hand, which wrapped completely around his wrist with fingers to spare. There was just no way in hell he was getting away now.

"I-"

"Quiet. You talk for weeks; my turn now. I spend the past four years tracking you down, and you aren't getting rid of me. I am here to stay, eh?"

Remus hesitated, and then quickly asked, "Why?"

He smiled, the first smile he'd seen since the night they became tent-mates. There was something fondly affectionate about the way he looked at Remus.

"You are my cub, stupid. Don't you recognize the one who turned you?"

Remus jerked as though bitten.

Fenrir Greyback? This man, who had shared his food for shelter that he could easily have stolen, the man-wolf that gave him the entrails and soft meats of his kills willingly, was the same one who brutally attacked him as a small child? Remus, against his will, began to mentally revise his opinion of his alpha.

"Well, you were very small. It's okay if you don't remember me. I had fun pretending to be a troll; you were very compassionate to a supposed idiot. I admire that. It is important not to be prejudiced against people for their outward appearance."

Remus nodded absently, not really listening.

He could see now that the face he'd supposed to be his friend's human face was actually incomplete. The face he looked at now was smoother, his features almost noble, like an aristocrat. He had blue blood in his family tree, it was clear to see. Remus asked if Fenrir would please let go of him, as he was losing circulation in his hand. Fenrir did so, but simultaneously re-arranged his legs so that Remus was trapped between them.

Remus was vividly reminded of their mutual nakedness. He didn't know why this had such an affect on him, but it may have had something to do with the last time he'd had sex being 5-plus years ago.

"Um, so, what do you want from me?" Remus felt shy around this man he'd thought of as a friend. Were they still friends? He couldn't say.

Fenrir shrugged, "I like to be around you, and spending time with you…I like_ you…_so…?"

Remus somehow understood what he was trying to ask and nodded.

Without any warning whatsoever, he was jerked down flat against Fenrir's chest and kissed without mercy until all sense of reality floated away from him into the winter morning. The shadows shortened as the sun began its ascent, shining through the gray clouds and illuminating a playful wrestling match in the snow between two wolves in the bodies of men.

~000~

End Epiphany

You guys deserved at least one really long story. I actually tend to dislike this pairing, as Remus seems very straight to me or prone to loving only people he has known a long time and been through a lot with, but I forced myself to write it and now I have to say it doesn't bother me as much anymore. But still. The whole alpha-beta dynamic pisses me off. It goes against my feminist ideals of equality in all the wrong ways.


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: It's been fun, but I don't think I'll do this challenge thing again. Too damn busy.

**Escalate **

Harry Potter had a tendency to step things up a notch higher than they would've been without him. His very presence could make fights break out or cause peace to descend, depending on the circumstances. It was impossible for him to pass through life unnoticed. He struggled with this as a teenager, but after the War he came to accept this as the way things were and always would be. Why fight the inevitable?

There was one relationship in his life that especially exemplified this pattern.

Harry met Draco Malfoy when he was eleven years old, and things had rapidly gone downhill from there. Name-calling turned to pranks turned to broken noses.

They fought mostly on opposite sides of the War, and played true to their parts. By the time the War was over and Draco was pardoned, though fined heavily, Harry was too wrapped up in his own life to notice or care. Operating in separate circles further broadened the gap between them.

And then, suddenly, the drift between them was over. Harry, taking a holiday in Venice with his daughter for her eighteenth birthday, stumbled across his old rival while they were having dinner. Not wanting to cause a scene, especially in front of his hormonal daughter, he nodded politely when Malfoy made eye contact. Malfoy nodded back, one side of his mouth tilting up in a not-quite-smile.

With the same suddenness as their previous enmity, a friendship somehow built up. Lily went shopping with her girlfriends, also there on holiday, and Harry went on a long walk alone, just soaking in the beauty of the city. He saw a bright flash of blond in the distance and saw Malfoy stepping out of a water taxi. Not knowing why, he made eye contact and smiled. Malfoy waved and came over to say hello.

Malfoy asked him what he was doing in the city, his accent sounding more French than English now. Harry supposed that meant the half-heard stories of the Malfoys exiting Britain were correct. A quick glance at his hands revealed no wedding rings. There was only his family's crest set in a thick band of gold on his right middle finger.

Not really knowing how, they found themselves getting a bite to eat and walking the alleys and bridges of Venice side-by-side like old friends. There is something about seeing a familiar face in an unfamiliar place that can forge bonds of affection even between old enemies.

Harry found that Draco, as he politely asked to be addressed, had never married. He'd gone to a prestigious Magical university Harry had never heard of and gotten a Masters Degree in Anthropology. His home was in France, where his great-great-Grandfather had lived before his move to Britain through marriage, but he spent most of his time jet-setting from continent to continent, gathering research on his projects.

Feeling a stab of jealousy at the freedom Draco enjoyed, Harry steered the conversation in other directions. He asked about Draco's friends from school, interested to see if they kept in touch. Draco said no, looking amused.

"I don't have anything in common with them anymore, and my traveling keeps me from forming long-term relationships outside of family. I have a cousin that I speak to fairly frequently, but he's my closest friend."

Draco then asked what Harry was doing in Venice, and Harry explained that Ginny had loaned him Lily so that he could make her new adulthood special. When Draco raised his eyebrows at the word 'loaned', Harry somewhat shyly explained that they were separated.

"Why? If that's not too personal a question."

It was hard for Harry to explain the situation, as he didn't fully understand it himself, but the major turning point in their marriage came when Ginny declared that she wanted to try being with a woman and Harry said that, if she did so, they could no longer consider them married.

There were only four days left to Harry's stay in Venice, and he spent all of them with Draco. Lily was happy to be with her friends, doing whatever it is young women do, and content to have dinner with her dad at night and discuss what she'd done. Harry found himself getting to know parts of his daughter he didn't know existed.

She really wasn't his baby girl anymore.

On his last night there Draco gave him his contact information on the condition that Harry not share it with anyone else. It was the first night Harry had seen Draco in short sleeves, and his Dark Mark stood stark and ugly on his forearm.

Harry didn't mind it as much as he once did. That was the past, this was now. Besides, he was too old to be thinking about all that childhood menace crap.

Through letters, they got to know each other as men in a way that was impossible when they were boys. They were both lonely, and things escalated. Feelings, new or long-buried (Harry couldn't tell which) developed at a rapid pace. In a month he felt like he couldn't live without Draco, and he suspected that his new friend felt the same way.

They met up several times in person when Draco happened to be in England, and each meeting resulted in closer physical contact. Silently, lines were being crossed and boundaries surrendered.

Looking back, it was impossible to say who had made the first motion to take things beyond the realm of friendliness. But the result of it was a long weekend spent without leaving Draco's hotel room, and a media maelstrom of outrage. Harry, used to their over-reactions regarding the tiniest facets of his life, didn't respond or comment to their frantic grabs for information, any information at all, about his new sexuality.

Explaining things to Ron were extremely difficult, and Ron gave him a black eye at some point of their 'discussion', but in the end Ron accepted Draco as a regular fixture of their lives.

At first Draco made a point of spending every weekend he could with Harry, and then that morphed into a third of a week, then a half, and finally he spent one day a week documenting on-location stuff and the rest of it doing work long-distance. He liked to spend as much of his time with Harry as possible, and even visited the office during lunch hour to drag Harry out with him. If their lunch dates didn't always involve food, it was nobody's business but theirs.

~000~

End Escalate

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